Category Archives: health

Life by candlelight.

It wakes up before I do, wresting me from unconsciousness with a thick unstoppable thumping.  I feel the fearsome pounding knocking at my dreams, pulling me from sleep with it’s tenacious teeth. Before my eyes even open I know the world will be too bright, too loud, too much.

Once awake I have to convince myself to move.  I know I will probably end up vomiting before I am even dressed as the act of sitting up causes waves of nausea to shoot through me.  I climb out of bed and stumble towards the bathroom, wishing I could teleport, fly, or maybe even sleep forever.

The light burns in my eyes as my stomach heaves from the motion.  I struggle through teeth brushing, a hot shower, and the donning of clothes.  The act of getting up has exhausted me.  I nearly convince myself to go back to bed.

If I am lucky, I will get better enough to move about the world in dark glasses. If not, it will be me in my room with an oil lamp on.  The stronger my headaches get, the more often I resort to candlelight to make it through my day.  The soft flickering glow caresses my fragile eyes instead of piercing them.  I have learned to read by candlelight, write by candlelight, crochet by candlelight.  I mute my screen to nearly black to work and write on the computer.

I have tried so many things, medications, therapies, treatments.  None have worked.  At this point I wonder if I will forever have to live my life by candlelight.

My robotic shiatsu master.

I suppose I was bored and dumb enough to announce that to the universe.  Whatever the reason, my headaches, after being exactly the same for over twenty-five years, decided to change in nature.

I have had all the tests necessary to tell me several things:

1.  I don’t have an aneurysm, high blood pressure, a brain tumor, or an alien seed pod silently waiting to kill me.  (So the good news is that this won’t kill me! Yay!)

2. Medical science has no idea why my migraines would suddenly change in nature.  The official word from the leading headache clinic in the country was “Sometimes that happens.”  (Yep. Still a practice.)

3. All those doctors who told me my migraines would stop after menopause were either bald face lying, drunk, or attempting to use anecdotal evidence to provide their suffering patients with desperate kernels of hope because they simply couldn’t stand to look them in the eye and tell them they would live like this forever.  (I would like to think the latter, as it indicates an inherent kindness and gentleness of spirit instead of malpractice.)

Now I not only get my usual headaches, but I also get randomly punched in one side of my face several times throughout the day by an invisible boxer.  (If this continues and I get better at ignoring it maybe I have a chance at being a contender!)

But wait, there is good news!  After several massages from people and one hell of a massage chair it would seem that the punching sensation on the left side of my face is somehow connected to my right shoulder blade.  (Don’t ask me how, my doctors don’t even know how.)

So I have a plan.  I will somehow convince my insurance company that it will be cheaper and more effective for them to buy me a $3500.00 massage chair than it will to keep filling $1800.00 prescriptions each month for medications that really aren’t all that effective.

Then I can sit in the massage chair several times a day and see if being beaten about by a robotic shiatsu master can cure what ails me.  Massage chair for the win!

Of course, my plan hinges on somehow making an insurance company see the reasonableness of spending $3500.00 on a preventative treatment as opposed to tens of thousands of dollars on abortive medications that don’t work.

What are the odds?

Thank you

Thank you to all the people who have shown me kindness, especially in the past two years.

The last two years were the darkest time in my life.  I made it out.  You helped.

If you made me smile, even once, you helped.

If you sent me a note telling me you loved me, you helped.

If you gave me a hug, you helped.

If you posted a note on Facebook or sent me a link to read, you helped.

If you came and sat with me, read with me, talked with me, you helped.

I am thankful for each and every moment of kindness you gave me.

I am thankful for your love.

It is doubtful I would have made it out of the darkness without all of you.

Happy Thanksgiving.